The unknown weapon is radiant lightning, a devastating messenger of death, which turn’d all to members of Vrishni & Andhaka clans to ashes. Their whiten’d bodies became unrecognizable. Those who escaped lost their har & nails – as if eaten by insects. In a very short time food became poisonous.
Death of Basho
The messenger sprinted across the sand,
Baring the loss of the Yamamoto,
Before the noble lord of his command…
As Basho’s senses stirr’d by Bushido;
he unsheath’d blade,
Finger’d the grip’s shark-skin,
No longer, now, afraid… he drew his charges in.
Grubby cheeks rubb’d powder-rouge red
Reflecting the bloody glow
Flaring upon each soldier’s head
When sever’d from it’s torso…
Surrounded by his loyal dead
It was his turn to go –
Smiling the grave grimace of Seppuku
Across his side his sword he slowly drew.
Dragonfly thron’d on lotus claw,
Sat by a bonsai tree,
Intestines pour, white waves of gore,
Honour’d Hari Kari!
Serving the soul with mystic realms of tryptych chivalrie.
A New Bomb
Carefree strolling thro’ the Sans Soucci,
Poetgarden of the playboy Kaisers,
Relaxing by the royal Jungfernsee,
Stalin deeper strategies devises
Superb post-conflict plans;
Schloss Cecilienhoff’s grand gathering of clans
Conjoins as occident chieftans,
Together, tongue-tied, appear,
Where truth-charged comments of Patton’s
Barge freely round Truman’s ear;
“Why should we stop, when those Russians
We also too could clear!”
Today, with Allies distinctly divided
How cautious was their converse conguided.
With Poland diff’rently shaded,
A time for frankness come,
Truman traded glances & said,
“We have forged a new bomb,
Intended to smite low Japan,” fresh devils beat the drum.
Calls for unconditional surrender
Emanate from that stately Postdam room,
Tojo pleads, “Terms too harsh, Lord Emperor…
The nations honour vital as her doom.”
Then Hirohito sigh’d,
“The time has come to grow, too many sons have died.”
While Tojo slid away to brood
At the Yasukini shrine,
The Emperor explor’d his mood
With a glass of Saki wine,
His vision ev’ry vista view’d
From Saipan to the Rhine;
Events & forces spiral from control,
A broken fortress at an empires fall.
He sent out his meditations
Upon their fastest steeds,
“Fly, fly my sons, fly to Russians,
Fly to the Swiss, the Swedes,
Let peace rush once more round the world as water does the reeds!”
The bomb burts like a flower,
& grew upwards under the sun.
And men stood far off, & wondered.
Angela M Clifton
On flexing orthoptic Truman insists,
Despite Japan’s offers of perfect peace,
B29 whines thro’ dense morning mists,
A break in the clouds… the new bomb’s release;
Their mission done
Men turn & bank away,
Flash brighter than the sun washes th’Enola Gay.
Nippon’s fair skies were ripp’d apart
By an awesome sphere of fire,
Hotter than Sol’s star-boilant heart,
Birth of the new messiah,
No brush of Pre-Raphaelite art
Could paint this awful pyre,
As in horrific instant Balrog comes
Bestride ten raging trillion atoms.
Cometh the cloud of fungal shape,
No nat’ral law could halt
Its gruesome rape, a cityscape
Spectres of Hebrew salt,
Forms leprous, red-raw populace, or shadows in asphalt.
A Knockout Blow
O cry it across the chasm
Of ages, how we struck
In the atom’s smithy a sword
The shockwaves of that terrible whirlwind
Tornadoes form, F5 morality,
But, come the dusts, Democracy hath pinn’d
His badges on the breasts of Liberty,
Close must the clash,
How can Japan fight on,
When in a single flash whole cityscapes are gone.
“This morning, sire, we were attack’d…”
“Which place?” “Hiroshima,
As of yet they’ve made no contact…”
Sadness fell’d the Emperor,
“How can this be, the city lack’d
For naught, I remember…”
Came later in the day the stunning truth,
When wept he for the old ones & the youth,
When holding head in trembling hands
He rued all he had done,
& understands the world demands
The setting of his sun,
“We must make peace, to Molotov release my decision.”
“Things alter’d very much since Tsushima,”
Says Molotov to the ambassador,
“This morning we attack’d Manchuria,
& thus is our declaration of war!”
With this red wreath,
The Soviet Jackal
Sinks perdifious teeth in Japan’s carcass skull.
As soldier seizes higher ground
To win the battle below,
A pilot bristles over ground,
From the fuselage lets go
Another moment to astound,
A new Nagashino –
Now forms the mad noise of many waters,
Nuclear phrenzie swarms as she slaughters.
As Liberty’s long vision drew
With quick one-two victory flew
Yon that black wilderness,
Gaunt skeletons strewn thro’ the ash defines total success.
Victory in Japan
Today the fever of the globe subsides,
Some Monadnock restored unto the world,
Across Missouri’s deck MacArthur strides,
For him the battle banners sadly furl’d;
His brood had brought
The safety of the Earth,
Full fiercely had they fought for lasting Freedom’s birth.
War brands a mark upon the slave
& hurls him to the slaughter,
Death pins a badge upon the brave,
Whose names are writ in water,
Fate carves respects into each grave,
Forever, ah! forever but to be
Forgotten like the Spanish Tragedie.
Most odoriferous conflict
Of ghost-dim histories,
A multi-victim count edict
To gross stupidities,
Trompeting bloodlet knowledge of Man’s capabilities.
Ful fragrant with the buttercups of June,
Deep Summer’s musk still sunset lingering,
When all of all Selene’s harmony in tune
Reflected in warm-fringed mellowing;
When woods in leaf
By nature gently nurs’d,
Suede moment of relief afore the golden burst.
In a whirl of wars & truces
The pageant of history
Has walk’d well with all the muses
& therin the poetry
Pays good homage to Confucious’
For surely this a moment of sublime
When Dawn’s lush calm is flusht across a time.
From Darwen to Acapulco,
From Budapest to Lourdes,
From Palermo to Tokyo,
From Ankhorage to Rhodes,
A whisper of sweet silence as the priesthood the scabbard swords.
War is Over
The Alps felt the first frost-fall of the year,
A soft, white sheet to blanket all with snow,
Jean Francois look’d down from a higher tier
Upon the rooves of Briancon below;
With scarfless throat,
No spike, no pick, no rope,
Like some rough mountain goat he scamper’d down the slope.
By underwater mountain stream,
Crystal waters crisp & clear,
Jean descended as if adream,
Startl’d herds of roving deer
Sent scattering by friendly beam,
Then as the inn grew near,
He thank’d his god, his land, his libertie,
Cursing the name infernal of Nazi.
He stept into ‘Les Montemar,’
Life lazes at a pace,
Walks to the bar, “Stella Artois…”
“Huit francs…” straight waitor-face,
“Huit francs! Huit francs pour un Artois, monsieur c’est un disgrace!”